Drowning
by thisislandgirl
Summary: He must be drowning. That's the only explanation he can come up with for the way he feels right this very moment. He feels like there's an anchor tied to his legs, dragging him under the surface, the pressure of it all crushing his lungs, preventing him from breathing.


He must be drowning. That's the only explanation he can come up with for the way he feels right this very moment. He feels like there's an anchor tied to his legs, dragging him under the surface, the pressure of it all crushing his lungs, preventing him from breathing. He's so far under he can't see the light anymore. No hands reaching for him to pull him back up, no rescue. This time he's well and truly on his own and he's not sure he has enough fight left in him to push against the currents and break free.

It's not a completely unfamiliar feeling to him. If anything, Clay Spencer was intimately familiar with the feeling of being dragged under. He's spent most of his life under the water, circumstances forcing him to sink or swim. He'd learned to survive under the crushing weight, even thrived under it. He'd figured it out when he was six years old, father gone, mother a mess, forced to live with grandparents he'd never met in a country thousands of miles from anything he ever knew. He'd learned then how to tread water, learned to fight to keep his head above the surface.

When he joined the Navy, trained to be a SEAL, he learned that you could survive with your head below the surface as long as you could still see the light. What should have been freeing, was condemning. Whispers following him around behind his back, distrusting looks. It's hard to keep treading water when the waves keep crashing over your head. So he'd sunk down below the surface, let the waves pass, and kept moving.

Joining Bravo had been like breaking through the surface, taking his first lungful of air in ages. It hadn't come without its own waves, but after a few missions, after he worked to prove himself, they accepted him. The rough stormy sea he'd been struggling to survive in became a calm sea he could float on. It was easy, like he'd always imagined it to be.

If joining Bravo team was like coming up for air, Stella was like the bright sun in his sky. She was a constant, steadying presence lighting up his life. Life was good and easy for a while, a dream he never thought he could have.

After Adam, though, the sun had disappear and the storms had started to roll back in. Clay fought to keep above the surface, legs and arms moving wildly in the sudden chill to keep him upright. Wave after wave headed for him, but Bravo had always been there to buffer the worst of it.

Until now.

Sitting alone in this hallway, tie feeling like a noose around his neck and dress blues feeling like a straight jacket, Clay finds himself all alone. He should have know it wasn't going to last. Ash Spencer was the anchor tied to his leg, always trying to drag him down. He'd been there all his life, it's just lately he'd gotten heavier. Clay had tried to fight it, tried to cut him free, even tried to give in, but nothing worked. Ash always came back, trying to drag him down to the depths with him. This time it may just work.

When he'd walked into the Bravo cages, he'd sensed something had changed. There were questions in their eyes, even a distrust. Did he really open his mouth and talk about their missions? Was he a glory hound like his father? Could they trust him? Did they make a mistake by choosing him? They didn't voice their questions, but Clay could see it on their faces as they looked at him.

Of course they knew, everyone knew. The interview had been on national news. Of course they thought he had something to do with it, Ash had all but connected those dots for them. A first hand account from someone on the team on the ground, a trusted source. Bravo's boots were the only ones on the ground for that one and Clay was the only real suspect. Everyone else's outspoken distrust and even hatred of Ash Spencer was enough to clear them.

"It wasn't me," Clay told them, before they could even ask.

Jason just looked at him with thunder in his eyes. Ray was disappointed, Trent distrusting. Brock looked confused, but angry. And Sonny ... well that probably stung the worst. The one man on Bravo who he'd thought would have his back, the one man who'd been there pulling him up by his bootstraps since the very beginning ... had turned his back on him, not even looking at him.

"I swear," he'd told them, silently pleading for them to listen, to hear him out, "I didn't talk to him."

It didn't matter though, they'd made up their minds. So did Command apparently. Blackburn quietly informed him he was on leave until everything could be sorted out and he was not to have contact with anyone until further notice. Clay, despite all his hard work, despite his careful steps, despite trying desperately to keep distance between himself and his father, now found himself pulled to the bottom of the ocean, isolated.

Sitting in this hallway, feeling eyes staring at him, judging him, Clay feels like he's drowning. Ash, the anchor around his leg, is tied too tightly this time; he can't slip free. He'd used all his energy trying to reach out for Bravo who hadn't even extended their hands. There's no fight left in him now. He lets the waters pull him down into their crushing darkness and awaits his fate. He'd been stupid to think he could ever escape.

* * *

"We're not supposed to be here," Ray reasons, glancing down to the other end of the hall where their rookie is waiting for his meeting with Command. He's not sure how he got roped into this. "No contact means no contact. You want to get him in more trouble?"

"We can't sit back and let him deal with this alone," Jason argues.

Clay sits perfectly still and at attention, no signs of the internal war that must be waging inside. He'd glimpsed it in the kid's eyes the other day. It had killed him not to say anything, had thought of defying the orders a hundred times just to provide the kid some relief. The only thing that had kept him in check was Blackburn's warning. If they disobeyed orders, things could go badly for Clay. The higher ups needed to be sure the kid was clean and not just hiding behind the team.

"Look at him, Ray," Sonny's voice is a soft growl. "We did that. We need to help him."

Sonny's guilt was even greater than Jason's. He knew he hurt the kid by turning his back on him the other day, but he hadn't been able to bear the lost and hurt look on Clay's face when he'd confronted them. If he looked at that broken look for one more moment, he would've cracked, so he looked away. It was to protect him, despite how harsh it seemed at the time. He just hoped the kid would understand and forgive them in time.

"Does anyone really think he did it?" Trent asks the question no one has dared to ask.

"Hell no," Sonny growls, a chorus of emphatic "no"s echoing from the rest of the team.

"All right, so what are we waiting for? Let's go." Brock looks directly at Ray, knowing he's their voice of reason and the only reason why they haven't beat tracks down the hall to their rookie.

Ray glances back at Clay's too stiff posture and knows they have to do something. Clay is like a little brother to him and the instinct to protect him is nearly overwhelming. He knows that it's a sentiment that is echoed by the rest of the team. Finally, he nods and turns towards Clay. They start to walk down the hall, one formidable unit, when Blackburn steps out, halting their progress. He glances at them before a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Should've made your move a few minutes ago," Blackburn tells them. "You just lost Davis twenty bucks."

Davis steps up to them, a scowl on her face. "Didn't think you'd let him get that far without a Bravo escort," she nods to where Clay is sitting.

"You're okay with this?" Ray questions, eyes bouncing between Blackburn's smirk and Davis's scowl.

"I'd be more worried if you weren't backing the kid up," Eric explains. "You wouldn't be here if you thought he did it. It'll go a long way in helping prove his case."

Sonny growls deep in his throat, not liking being used as pawn. His concern is with Clay and Clay only. He pushes through the group and storms down the hall. He's not sure if anyone else follows him, but at the moment he doesn't care. He believes Clay and will defend him all the way. As he approaches, Clay's head snaps up, eyes going wide. In that moment, to Sonny, it looks like the kid is drowning, about to slip out of their reach. There's a lost, desperate look in his eyes that Sonny has never seen and it tears at his heart.

Instinctively, Sonny reaches his hand out. That's when he sees the relief break across the kid's face. Clay reaches out, fingers wrapping around Sonny's wrist tight. Sonny gives him a tug and pulls him up to his feet and into a quick hug. He feels the kid suck in a deep breath, like it's his first time coming up for air. A tremble runs through him before he steps back. If the kid's eyes are a little watery, Sonny will be damned if he mentions it.

"How you holding up, kid?" Jason's voice asks from behind Sonny.

Clay nods shakily as the rest of Bravo, including Blackburn and Davis, step up to him. They surround him like a protective barrier, daring anyone to breach it. They each shake the kid's hand or give him a pat on the back, reassuring him.

"I'm sorry we couldn't be here before now," Jason tells him honestly. He gives Clay's shoulder a firm squeeze, waiting until the kid meets his eyes. "You're family. We will always have your back. Never doubt that. Copy?"

Clay takes a deep breath, eyes taking in the team around him. The stormy ocean around him is calming and with his head finally above the surface, he can breath again. There's still an anchor tied to his leg, but the weight isn't as heavy with his brothers sharing the weight. A smile curls up his lips as a feeling of peace finally settles over him. "Copy that."


End file.
